Martyrs Accepted, Not Desired
by Irish Potatoes
Summary: Jak's proven himself a dangerous asset to the Underground, but Torn's concerned he could be using a double-edged sword. Deciding ignorance to the Dynamic Duo's origins is no longer excusable or safe, he confronts them about their motives. Slightly AU.
1. Obligations

_A look- well. More of a brief glance inside Torn's head. This is still when Jak's new to the Underground, working the 'crappy missions' for Torn._

* * *

Underground work was kept underground for a reason. Only the most desperate came. And not many of them could produce the guts that the rookie consistently laid all over the floor... Figuratively speaking. Torn hoped it would stay that way, as he shook his head, eyes closed, brows raised in exasperated wonder. This kid... The _hell_.

The hell'd he come from? The hell was he, for Mar's sake?

It generally went against the commander's "Don t Ask, Don't Tell" policy to take an interest in his recruits. Especially newbies. It wasn't advisable to think about most of them as more than dispensable. For their underworld was rightly named. It was for those unable to live among the surface, having already undergone hell. The Underground welcomed fighters. But it couldn't use all of them. And the cold truth was that this was justified- justified by the need for their deaths in a mission as impossible as the rebellion's. There was no romanticizing it. Every measure would be taken to protect its members, but only as long as they didn't jeopardize its continued survival. And the movement's survival was all-important. They were literally the last left standing against the Baron s tyranny.

It was always a tough draw, every decision. Every head count of survivors. It drained on him, but he shouldered the responsibility. Someone had to. No one else would or in his opinion, could handle the strain. There weren't many Torn could trust to even stay alive. Experience helped, but often meant little in the world of the Underground, when put up against the Baron's forces, who kept the city on a dangerously short leash and under a crushing foot. That liked to kick... Hard.

Grudgingly he admitted he needed Jak's skill. Simple beginner's luck could NOT in any world have kept him alive that long, or gotten the kid out of so many risky operations vital to the cause. At least, Torn saw them as important. The rat called them suicidal.

_'Only when done with that peashooter they'd been using_.'

The tattooed brows leveled as he made his mental argument. He always spared them the artillery he could afford to give them a fighting chance, throwing in an ammo upgrade when the situation demanded it. But this was comparable to arming a child with a pointed stick and telling it to go destroy a nest of metalheads. Seeing them return to the base not just miraculously **intact**, but with goddamn _success_. It threw him for a loop. The kid had surprised him-no short feat- surprised _them_ all; just strolled straight on into their hideout like some kind of freaking omen. Offering hope to the cause in a matter of weeks- Torn snorted, needing to laugh at the absurdity of it all. What a flaming contradiction that was.

Jak's temper- seeming to burn only with the desire for the Baron's head, severed and bleeding on a plate- was their beacon. Their "light at the end of the tunnel." Torn didn't think in poetic terms. He didn't think he could if he tried. He was, for better or worse, far better acquainted with reality than he would ever have wished to be. But Jak... He couldn't deny that Jak could help their cause. Was helping their cause. He was a rare asset, but couldn't be relied wholly upon. Torn wouldn't risk resting the fate of their mission on the angsting shoulders of some teenage hellion.

...No matter how much promise he'd shown.

Hell. Better to not think about it, he finalized, turning to review the papers gotten to him from his tireless network of spies; ones that told him what kind of weaponry was being updated at the ammo factory. He entertained the idea of just sending the 'Dream Team' and not worrying about the technicalities.

They'd taken care of suicide missions before; ones that he'd sadistically dubbed himself. Back before he was seriously considering utilizing their abilities. Back when he was only sending them out to give them a dose of reality, scare 'em off if he was lucky. They'd- well, he couldn't speak for the rat, but Jak had proven himsef tougher than he'd anticipated. There was a drive in him that nearly equalled his own.

_Besides, this one shouldn't be too difficult if the rat's stories hold an ounce of truth_.

Clacking the sheets into a neat pile once again on the tabletop, he grew serious. That was a risk he would never take, never would he be stupid or arrogant enough to ignore precaution and protocol. That was the difference between him and Praxis, though they might both be unfeeling bastards. He couldn't save them all. But he could make sure they were prepared enough to have a fighting chance. And he would damn well do that if nothing else...

No matter how much paperwork it required.

* * *

A/N: So.. Here it is? Sorry if it was unsatisfying/confusing/disorganized. I MAJORLY edited the verbal vomit I was pouring out, but now it seems kind of disappointingly short. *resigned shrug* I'm basically making my own pathetic attempts at fanfiction because all my favorite J&D authors seem to have fallen off the face of the earth..

Anyway, this is the first thing I've dared to post, and feedback means a lot :) Was it boring? decent? *gulp* OC?

I've got more written, with actual interaction (confrontation would be the better word) between Torn and the dynamic duo. But I don't want to post it if it's painful, so I'll judge by the response for this.

Thanks for reading ^_^


	2. Suspicions

Torn settled on his decision, communicator gripped in hand.

He'd only given him that first mission to stuff that cocky attitude, that blatant disrespect a hardened underground member would have long since lost... Not that there were many left to vouch for this fact. But careful paranoia was their code of conduct. This kid seemed to throw caution into the wind when confronted by the enemy, and it pissed him off.

But what _concerned_ him was that Jak wandered around Haven like he was born and bred there. Navigated it, seemed as familiar with its secret refuges as one of their damned vets. Torn found he'd had difficulty trusting the source who'd discovered Jak'd had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with Haven for a grand total of **two** years. Two years for that kind of knowledge, familiarity? More importantly, where had he been before? Getting in or out of the city had been absolutely unheard of for regular civilians since Praxis's overseeing.

...And finally, what was his true reason for joining? Martyrdom in the Underground was an honor unfortunately shared by many, and frequently bestowed. This was a well known fact. Needlesss to say, there weren't many heat-packing teens lined up at their door hoping for entry.

The Underground had enemies, and not all of them stalked around in metal suits. Praxis had his rats as well.

It was time he got some answers. Torn didn't do special treatment. Jak, however, wasn't just another member anymore. There was more to this kid than met the eye, but Torn had been willing to overlook that up till now. At the very least, Jak'd earned his interest for simply surviving this long.

Now he had to find out if it really was luck protecting him, or something less innocent.

* * *

Jak had no intention of becoming a martyr. Or whatever you could call underground casualties, since martyrs were generally remembered for their sacrifice, or simply honored in some way, with a memorial, a certificate, a freaking moment of silence.

It seemed the Underground was growing tired of remembrances… Jak could imagine it getting old after the numbers he'd seen the KG drop during the short time he'd been privileged with out in the open, if smoggy, Haven air. The most fallen agents received were defeated sighs, and dull regret.

But Jak wasn't dying for any cause not completely his own. The Underground was a means to an end, and while he supported their efforts, he didn't give jack squat who ruled the cesspit of a city he'd found himself in. It was the Baron he wanted. Dead. By his hand.

Everywhere he was reminded of the man's ruthless, gloating presence. Especially by the KG. In their clanking metallic and crimson, the Baron's guard demanded respect from the fearful bystanders they then proceeded to run down like roadkill when in pursuit of the renegade. Treating them with less respect than vermin in the streets. If they weren't criminals, they were pests, obstacles. Though Jak had no way of knowing who was Underground out in the open, he could still do better than imagine what _their_ treatment would be like as people actually worthy of punishment. This wasn't something he feared for himself however. He didn't plan on getting caught a second time. And he needed the Underground for a straight shot at Praxis.

Slowing out of an irritated jog, he strode at a steadier rate over the wooden planks that held him above water infested with what smelled like raw sewage. Daxter could and probably was coming up with more creative comparisons, but Jak wasn't really listening; he was instead doing his best to keep a sharp eye despite the smog. And not just for loose planks that would spell out a thoroughly unenjoyable trip to the base showers. Even in the dankest, most uneventful places he might stand out. He'd grown rather talented at blending in, but even simple behaviors could be giveaways to those who'd been patrolling Haven most of their lives. He'd come to share their grim demeanor, but the purpose in his stride, challenging eyes and steady set of jaw set him apart. They didn't fit the attitude of a typical Havenite. The shock of blonde hair was a bit of a giveaway, too. Speaking of which...

"CITIZEN."

Nails already lengthening, Jak debated whether to curse or thank Mar for their timing.

* * *

The dim room's lone occupant leaned over the table's nicked wooden surface in preparation. His instincts had developed sharp knack over the years for recognizing suspicious cicumstances, and he'd learned to act in accordance.

The communicator grizzled in his hand, static his resolute fingers brought to life sounded through the base.

"Jak."

A few moments pause. Torn called forth what he remembered of their most recent assignment… looking for some kind of relic in the slums, of all places.

An answering transmission crackled and an unmistakable screech of "What does he want NOW" could be picked out of the steady fizzle.

He disappointedly acknowledged the rat was well and whole.

"…little busy here, Torn."

He'd guessed as much listening with a trained ear to the sounds of harsh commands and muffled gunshots. He could also guess if the blonde was taking the time to respond, he was momentarily in position to answer, out of enemy hearing (and firing) range.

"Listen Jak," he ground out, condescension clear through the white noise, "finish what you're doing and once you're in the clear get your ass over to HQ. Make _sure_ you ain't bein' dogged."

An indignant sound erupted from the rat, cut off by the blonde's dry response.

"Roger that." And the renegade cut transmission, attention back to… _whatever_ shit was at hand. Torn didn't ask for details, but was inclined to call it the rodent's handiwork (though he wouldn't completely put it past the youth). The rat drew unwanted attention, but the kid had a temper. Especially when it came to Torn's old subordinates.

He irritably came to the conclusion that Jak would find a fight wherever he was, even if the mission didn't involve the use of _any_ heavy artillery _whatsoever_.

"Give a boy a gun…" he grumbled to himself.

* * *

Jak pressed himself flatter against the concrete that shielded him from the searching lights of the guards above him. He made it a point to keep his escape methods unpredictable. Though he had little control over that in most cases, spontaneity had become a necessity when the guard was that hot on his tail. Despite this fact, the trick he was currently employing was a go-to of his, and somehow always seemed to baffle them. The smoking zoomer two streets away still blazed steadily, attracting red uniforms en mass, who'd proceed to stalk the area, then turn away and back again in confusion. He wondered if they were too strung up on their high horses, floating on their elevated positions of power over the masses to take the trouble to look beneath their feet, in one of the many trenches of the city streets.

Steam hissed sharply, expelled from one of the nearby pipes, obscuring the blonde's stocky form. He'd flown the zoomer through a crowded street, jumping off as it continued its kamikaze course into a screen displaying the Baron's crest, a couple hundred feet ahead of him. In a burst of flame and showering sparks the ruler's threats cut short and Jak grinned tersely, already losing himself in the panicked masses, then slipping beneath the surface, sinking into their cast shadows. He felt a stronger affiliation with the dark these days, and he found it often responded in turn, faithfully keeping him concealed and safe.

...So different from his days in Sandover.

Pushing back a sigh lacking anything really, his eyes darted among the passing feet, ignoring Daxter, who couldn't resist commenting on how advantageous their view could be concerning ladies dressed a particular way. At least he had the sense to lower that naturally shrill voice. "Bet ol' Torny will be grillin' us about this one 'till those smoker lungs of his give out" Daxter predicted, sounding by all means pleased.

Jak admitted a small half-grin at that. They'd be getting grilled, that much was for sure. He'd made sure to give himself equal distance away from the zoomer and the underground entrance itself. So the base couldn't be more than a couple streets away. He chose to consider this move as punctual in meeting Torn's last order. And any 'dog' that caught whiff of his movement wouldn't have the pleasure of consciousness long enough to give chase.

As the pulsing siren eventually let up, and the gloomy, oppressive silence resumed its reign, Jak peeled out from the wall, traveling within the secure confines of the trench until it jaggedly narrowed. Easily swinging himself up and landing at a crouch, now in the open, he proceeded forward, knees bent, close to the ground. They breached the familiar skull and sickle that marked their new 'home' without incident, and didn't hesitate before strolling in.

"Arright, what's with the call in, nails-for-breakfast?! You were interrupting the master at work. Though you could say my steely resolve's immune to distractions, your charming voice is a _whole_ 'nother matter." It seemed Daxter was never at a loss for creative new nicknames.

Torn stood facing the wall, arms crossed, body slightly angled to the right, in a sharp lean. He looked ready to start an interrogation.

"Trust me, I have no trouble believing that" the rasp retorted, tone bleeding sarcasm. "Which one of you lunkheads had the bright idea of crashing that zoomer _four fucking streets _from our base?" he demanded, with controlled rage that was mirrored in his face as his glare shifted in the direction of the two. First at the driver, for being responsible, then at Daxter. For being annoying.

"Look, let's just cut to the chase." Jak countered, carelessly fingering a graze below his chin, "the guards aren't gonna be able to track us here, and I'm not in the mood for bullshit."

Torn felt his concern being justified. It gave him some satisfaction.

"Yeah? Well, _too fucking bad_. That was some shitpoor planning if I ever saw it. Better watch it or you'll end up making the _KG_ look good."

...It also pissed him off.

Jak's eyes narrowed, and the commander observed the agitated snarl tugging at the edge of his lip, "we're here because you called us in, Torn. Now _why exactly _is that?"

Torn pressed his lips in displeasure that settled across the rest of his features. He turned, "You're _here_ because you're an agent for the Underground. And the more shit you get into, the more trouble you're exposing us to."

For a moment Torn allowed the silence to breathe.

"Jak, I need to know who you are. I need to make sure _you're_ not becoming a danger to us." There was a brief flicker of surprise on Jak's face. The blunt accusation hadn't been expected.

"And if I was? You'd what- just turn us out, right?" Jak snorted in angry disbelief. "We know too much for you to just let us go." It was a statement, which indicated Jak didn't feel threatened enough to sound it out as a challenge. Torn's face hardened.

"Don't tempt me."

The silence tried to steal another breath, but was immediately interrupted by the usual culprit.

"Well, SHEESH should we just get back to being KG target practice, or d'you actually have something important for us?"

"I already told you why you're here."

"Life story? Yeah, we heard you the first time." The rat waved dismissively, "Well siddown buddy boy, cause it's a doozy. My repitoire of daring escapades may leave you feeling faint-" Daxter stopped, winking at Jak, who gave him the briefest glance before eyeing Torn blankly.

He offered nothing.

He was on the defensive.

No one had asked him anything about his time in Haven. It was only fitting they'd start out of need to assess the danger he posed.

Torn saw a resolute, if sullen, demeanor overtake the blonde teen, whose eyes spoke nothing of the teenager he was supposed to be.

_This is gonna be like pulling teeth from a rabid lurker. _

"One of our scouts reported from the mission last week. He was in the area and he saw you take out those guards."

_He said a lot of other things too… Things I can't even readily believe_.

"…So how'd you do it."

Jak was no longer looking at him, though his face didn't change.

"...He was there. What'd he tell you?"

_That's not an answer_.

"I'm asking you."

"Why the sudden interest?" The kid was closed off, now looking pissed and itching to leave, even if it was back into the fray he left outside the Underground's back door.

"Because against all odds, you punks are somehow still **alive**. And I don't believe that beginner's luck is keeping you that way. Not in Haven. Not for us."

"_Bitter much,_" the otherwise quiet rat coughed.

"Got damn good reason to be, rodent." He ground out, before turning on its taller companion.

"You're sure sportin' some yourself, _kiddo_. You think you got any frickin' right to be?"

Torn sure got a reaction then.

Jak's eyes said everything, seeming nearly black with hate... Though Torn didn't feel like it was completely aimed at him. _Damn. Is this really a good decision? Too late now. The underground has survived without him for years… If blondie's teenage _feelings_ get hurt, he can walk his ass on out. _He was a rarity, maybe, but they weren't dependent on him yet.

"You got issues with Praxis, fine. Who in this city doesn't. But you ever even met the man? You think you can friggin' take him on?!" Torn growled. He didn't tolerate his kind of recklessness. Considering pay-back really was the teen's only real motive, the Underground wasn't a place for disgruntled kids. It was serious, Haven's last real hope, and most died fighting their fight. He wanted Jak to understand that. Preferably before he used the Underground-provided zoomer parked out back for a game of tag with a hellcat or something else equally heavy in firearms.

Jak was just looking at him in a way that he could only describe as disquieting. And wasn't rising to the bait.

Torn was waiting for the not-so-subtle attitude he'd come to expect from the serious teen.

Daxter looked indignant and about to tell him off, when Jak finally spoke.

"Yeah. I do." The confession was hard, as-a-matter-of-fact. _Challenging Torn to believe the same_.

And he was on his way out the door.

Torn watched them leave and considered.

* * *

A/N: OKAY. HM. Fun start.

By the way, my thoughts about Torn is that he's cold, but he has to be. He's a bastard, but not a bastard for no reason. He's just been in the fight too long to get concerned about losses. He's seen so many, forced to grow immune for the most part. He's also a suspicious, paranoid bugger. But (again) he has to be. It makes him good at his job. Normally in the games, he seems to care a whole lot less about Jak's motives, the whole "I'll take your help any way I can get it" line... but selfishly, I like forcing people to care. But I'm really monitering myself so I won't ruin his character, I promise.

So these are the results of my continued experiment. Who knows, maybe a plot will start to develop at some point.

Questions, comments, complaints, I'm all ears. Thanks for those of you who've taken the time to review already :) .. And for making them encouraging ones.


	3. Avoidence Maneuvers

To the fabulous individuals who took the time to encourage this with a review (I'm too lazy to do that often) I'd like to thank you for your interest. I was expecting less, and getting reviews that aren't telling me to quit fanfiction makes me want to sing~

So _MonsterChibiJaxmine, _Miss/Mister_ Anonymous, jenn, Ottsel Instinct, Koure_, and _SkaleFlapper15,_ here's a shout-out. Oh yeah, and the next chapter.

Last day of Spring Break (very tragic), so the next chapters won't be as quick, but in the meantime, here's more of the boys and Torn, who's (you guessed it) ...pissed off.

* * *

Apparently... he friggin' _could_.

Torn was abruptly and unexpectedly made aware of this in the middle of a meeting dispatching agents to monitor the KG's new patrolling schedule. He wasn't omniscient (though he'd been fearfully accused of this on several occasions) but he knew damn well close to everything he possibly could concerning Haven's daily going-on's. Down to the minute the first patrol officer began and within roughly six of the end of their rotation. This costant attention often paid off when handing out missions on the wire.

The last meeting he'd had with the teen hadn't been wholly unenlightening, but the specifics of Torn's questions had been frustratingly left unanswered. He'd labeled the issue as unresolved, but now felt more comfortable in allowing it to remain so for the time being. Perhaps that hadn't been wise.

At first, there was an outbreak of pandemonium, followed by a steady, robotic series of heavy blasts and reloading of shots. They sounded dangerously close to the base.

Ear twitching, his head snapped up as the first shot rang out. His surprise lasted but a moment.

"Okay, everyone... Code Green. You know what to do." He instructed the seven startled agents in the room just after the screams broke outside. They nodded, professionalism back as they slipped out into the chaos one by one.

This was procedure. If ever they encountered threat of being discovered, the first action taken was to evacuate unnoticed, as quickly as humanly possible, providing that the opportunity presented itself.

However, as Torn later found out, the Guard hadn't been after them. Not the members in the _room_, anyway.

He'd hold down the fort, of course, willing to be the one exception. After hurriedly checking in with several agents, Vin was the first he got anything specific from, though he wasn't first in his list of contacts. The scientist wasn't exactly articulate when wound up, and unfortunately (for the Underground) prone to hysteria. That made his babbling_ extremely difficult _to decipher. Torn did catch, however, the mentioning of "_MOTION-CENSORED TURBO CANNONS!" _already up and apparently being put to use in four or five sectors. The inconveniece was made complete by the expected flocking of KG troops to the scene, and mass panic in the streets. Super. Vin's report at least got him the gist of it early, along with the more informative addition that someone was in the process of shutting the guns down.

Though it still probably wouldn't have taken Torn long to guess the culprits on his own. Seeing as Jak hadn't reported in once in two days, that narrowed his list of possible peace-disturbing suspects significantly.

That would, afterall, have left those two plenty of time to conjure up a shit-storm.

* * *

They took their time coming in, unaccompanied by the usual level of cockiness. Jak rested one hand against the wall, as he descended the stairs, but removed it before (he thought) the distracted ex-commander could see.

Torn didn't miss a beat.

"The whole city's on high alert. The hell'd you two do?"

"Us?! Nothin'!" The rat swore, waving its paws in innocence. "Just doin' some sight seeing- right, Jak?" He demanded of his larger companion, who didn't reply.

"Oh, really." Torn deadpanned, "then why is the Krimzon Guard looking for a young man with light hair, blue tunic, and _rabid orange RAT_ on his shoulder?"

The rat didn't seem to register it was found out.

"Coulda been anyone! Orange **is** the new black this season..." Daxter informed him persistently, presenting himself as testament, paws outstretched in a classic "Ta-Da!" position.

"Look," Jak finally cut in, probably to prevent his friend from being skewered, "we climbed up to the palace and... we tripped a few alarms," the blonde offered deviously, shrugging as he searched for the vaguest possible explanation. His lips turned up in smug satisfaction.

Fury registered before astonishment set in.

"What?! I didn't AUTHORIZE a strike on-"

"Hey, we kicked the Baron's _ass. _Unfortunately- he escaped." Jak's short sigh sounded genuinely regretful. And way too casual for what he was insinuating. Kid had the balls to take the Baron on in his own fucking palace? May the Precursors never cease to bestow such suicidal wonders.

For a moment, Torn couldn't pick where to start; You're Idiots For Starting This Up, You Really Expect Me To Believe That, You Just Endangered Half The Fucking Underground, Go Clean Up This Goddamn Mess Before I Kill You... Only years of professionalism allowed him to settle on a tamer version of the last option.

"Alright," he forced out, "Most of them made it to safety, but we still have a few agents left on the scene. Since **you've** stirred up the wumpbee's nest, you and 'Whiskers' here get to move four of our people to safe houses." He informed them gratingly, gesturing to the northern sectors of the city laid out on the map in front of them.

"Do it without _any_ casualties." He added acidly, seeing the kid nod in silent understanding as he briefly studied the map.

He left him with a final warning.

"Don't screw this up Jak."

The duo shared a glance, but Jak's face didn't lose any conviction. He could trust them to do this... He hoped.

Mar, he was getting old for this.

* * *

"Drive, _drive_!"

Jak obliged, revving the engine to the limit, and narrowly avoided colliding with a two-seater taking up more than its share of the right air-traffic lane. After dropping to the lower zone, and finding it crawling with KG, he returned to the air immediately, knocking a few off their feet. The three outlaws flew through the streets, their last drop off underway.

"Hey man, cool your jets. We got it handled." What appeared to be a talking weasel assured the anxious man confidently.

"Man, what happened to Mr. 'Thank God You're Here?'" It was loudly whispering to the maniac at the wheel, taking a break from shooting down their pursuers, irony apparent in its voice.

"Look Mister, we got it covered, just tell us where to find your Happy Place and we can-"

The driver pulled a desperate-feeling turn into oncoming traffic, bouncing back and forth to avoid any head on collisions.

"Jaaaak!" the animal moaned, "Keep it up and I'll shoot your ears off. This thing ain't easy to aim- 'specially with these 'fun-sized' hands!" the wiggling digits instantly stilled as this triggered another thought; it pondered more seriously, "You don't think Torn meant no _civilian_ casualties, too, do 'ya?"

The driver grinned, but focused on his attempt to keep them all in one piece. Daxter decided that wasn't such a bad thing, and let it go for the time being.

"Hope not. So! Let's hear it, buddy- Where to?"

In a steady voice the gruff agent managed to tell them it wasn't more than a minute away. Daxter had to give him credit, even if his arms betrayed him, as they were now in a suffocating deadlock around his friend's waist. Daxter supposed Jak's technique _might_ scream 'suicidal' if he wasn't so freakin' good. There was no denying his friend was a natural with anything that included 'fast and furious' in the description.

Slamming the brake until the zoomer's end tipped dangerously forward, threatening to overbalance, they miraculously arrived at their stop, KG in earshot, but momentarily out of sight.

It was arguable that Jak wasn't, however, necessarily a pro just yet.

"Glad we've got you on our side," the man commented in thanks, before unsteadily making his way indoors.

"Aw, didja hear that, Jak? _Someone_'s glad to have us here!" the Ottsel announced, finding it necessary to indulge in a victory pose.

"If only Torn was that easy to convince, am I right?" He wasn't quick to sense the ominous silence overtaking the area.

"I said am I-"

All of a sudden the orange furball was clinging for dear life to Jak's shoulder piece, as they hit the ground running; Heavy boots urgently _pat-pat-patting_ the dirt they made impact with.

"TARGET IN SIGHT. HEADING TO SECTOR 6!"

"Zoomer's kaput," the ottsel's transportation explained quickly, ducking enemy fire as their Friendly Neighborhood Guard came barreling around the corner behind them in numbers.

"SHOOT TO KILL."

Daxter tossed the weapon to Jak, noticing its uncommon lightness, and the reason for it.

"Eh, Jak... hate to say it but we're outta rounds, too. Guess I need to calm down handling all that firepower, huh?" He joked, rubbing his head nervously.

His friend grunted, skidding to a halt as KG poured in from the corridor they were hoping to escape through. Redirecting himself, Jak doubled back the opposite way before it dawned upon him that their position wasn't looking particularly good.

Scanning upwards for the vagrant zoomer, his last hope of hijaking a ride out was dashed, as it seemed local drivers had conveniently found the sense to stay far away from the scene he was currently trapped in.

Swarmed on all sides by Praxis's men, guns all trained on the lone fighter, Jak stated, "Dunno about civilians, Dax... But I _know_ Torn wasn't talking about KG casualties."

Violet sparks of energy emitted from the teen's battle-ready form, and the ottsel gulped in agreement.

He hoped they'd live to find out what exactly Torn had meant.

* * *

A/N: _Stole a bit of the exchange in the cut scene entitled "What Did You Two Do." It's one I really enjoy, and thought it would get some beneficial, canon interaction in here._

_I also changed the summary, since this isn't much of a one-shot anymore._

_...And lastly, other guest appearances *may* become a factor. No promises, but any requests if it's a go? _


	4. Confrontations

_Whew. I was planning on doing homework last night, and ended up working on this for nearly four hours instead. (This is half, The rest is still under revision.) I had no idea writing fanfiction could be as addicting as reading it. Way more fun and rewarding. You guys have all been fantastic reviewers, seriously, you're getting this fic written a lot faster than it would've been otherwise. ^_^_

_Thanks for those of you continuing to review, and those who've started, (Daxfan, aussie-chick-13, Berander and foxxy nine-tails.) _

_So now we're gonna even out the time Jak and Torn get. Because I'm still a Jak fan-girl first and foremost, though Torn's fun in his own right. So here's some real Renegade action- hope you all enjoy~_

* * *

_Chapter 4_

_CRACK. _Whipping the heavily weighted gun out in an arch, it made unforgiving contact with two KG helmets, one's visor lens shattering, vision destroyed, as they were thrown to the ground, down for the count.

_Click_. _Shink-shink-shink!_

Yellow eco-laden shells came pouring out of the barrel at a blinding pace, far too rapid for the eye to follow. Making contact with every shot, this was more a reason to worry than be reassured. It meant the enemy numbers were so overwhelming he couldn't miss.

"WE'RE TAKING HEAVY CASUALTIES!"

Reverting back to using the blaster as a club, the ferocious and effective tactic took out enough guards to give the blonde, bloody rebel some breathing room.

He was running on pure adrenaline now. His hand immediately flew to his side. Given this moment of opportunity, he fished out a handful of bullets from the pouch at his left hip. Emergency reserves.

-_four, five, six shells loaded and good to go- five more. Seven, eight-_

"TEN O'CLOCK JAK!"

Pivoting, he swung his weapon in sheer reaction, flooring another guard. _BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!_ Back into scatter mode.

This cleared out enough room for him to continue his task. No longer surrounded on all sides, he spat out the remaining ammo bits he'd held between his teeth and finished reloading his weapon. Fingers efficient, almost abnormally quick and controlled, they didn't have time to shake. Another surge of the city's enforcements pounded towards him, guns swinging back and forth menacingly as they sprinted, dead-set on closing the gap between them and their target. But they weren't upon him just yet.

He paid them an assessing glance._ How many left... _

He'd been close to setting loose his dark side after only the first wave of assault. But he reigned it in last minute, choosing to face these mind-wiped soldiers as a man for the present. Those fallen didn't know how lucky they'd been. They would have suffered far worse at the hands of his alter-ego.

Despite the cold and casual attitude he frequently conveyed, Jak had a secret; one other than the creature referred to. Though he'd seemed more than ready to let loose earlier, he'd grown uncomfortable with letting out what his friend had named 'Dark Jak.' The first few times, there had never really been a choice. He hadn't even known what was happening as his veins were suddenly lit afire, signaling that the dormant eco of the darkest kind, now holding residence in his body was awakening, obliterating his senses with pain. Tearing at his fingertips, rolling through him in crippling waves. His insides burned as if on fire. The final explosion of agony in his head had been enough to floor him, and the twisted being born out of this torture was released, free to do as it pleased. The _eco freak._ What everyone _else_ had named him. Jak was less kind. That thing was a complete monster.

What disturbed him the most, however, wasn't the pain, nor the fearfully whispered titles. It was what the other half symbolized. How out of control everything had become since traveling through the Rift gate. How out of control _he_ was. When he... changed, it wasn't just that he couldn't control his actions; he had no recollection of them either. He had absolutely no memory of what he'd done after a transformation. And that scared him more than Praxis, his cruelty, followers, and torture combined. So Jak preferred to stay... human, if he could. Even if it meant rejecting the power that could easily have gotten them out of this mess.

They were firing now. GREAT. Freaking perfect. Breaking into a run, he became a moving target, or in other words, a harder one to land a hit on. But it was only a matter of time. Lunging, he created enough momentum to carry a brutal jab crashing into the metal-plated chin of the nearest KG with sickening force from below. The hit sent the unprepared guard flying, and three more followed suit, courtesy of a spinning kick, blow to the chest from the blaster, and a rolling jump paired with a wicked, close-ranged punch to the face.

Jak's tendency to deck them there wasn't _solely_ for the satisfaction gained from punching his aggressors square in the noses; though that had something to do with it. Their armor was actually weaker in the neck and facial areas, carrying less weight, making them more vulnerable to his gravity-defying swings.

In all this time, he hadn't lost his talent for hand-to-hand combat. He'd just had to adapt it a little, get used to making the switch between fist and gun.

...And using them on people.

He tried to calculate whether or not he could pull it off- get out of this without reverting to... it.

"FIRE! FIRE!" the anxiety-stricken order brought even more streaks of orange and red heat flying overhead.

Swiveling to silence and break the face plate of the perpetrator, the rogue elf then made out to grant a few (what must have been) death-wishes for the black-and-red group charging straight into his path. He was having relative success until he was caught from behind by a blast.

"Agh!"

_Shit._

A stray shot of red eco made contact, heat disintegrating the fabric of his upper arm as it blew past, leaving a burn he could tell would be a bitch to get rid of.

"That _really.._. Fucking... _Hurts_." He hissed out, punctuating each word with a hit to a metal-plated suit. So far he wasn't in too bad of shape, besides a now badly scorched shoulder, and a few minor injuries.

"Teach 'em, Jak," called the fuzzy, orange passenger who held a front row view of the skirmish from his left. Piping with vengeful glee on his friend's behalf, it continued its tirade.

"Don't mess with the Demolition Duo, 'ya sons 'a yakkows!"

That meant Dax was still in one piece up there, thank Mar. Jak didn't have an extra second to watch out for him in the fray, but Daxter had long since proven himself capable of maintaining a life-saving grip, one less thing for him to worry about. The fact that Daxter insisted to continue manning his perch at Jak's side, through the thickest and never-so-thin, earned Jak's eternal gratitude. Though looks could be deceiving, Daxter was the only person willing to go so far for his sake, and Jak could only be glad not to see the boy-turned-ottsel punished for his devotion.

"You okay down there, big guy?" Daxter checked in on his injured friend.

"..Peachy," the said person's reply barely carried over the blasts.

Jak never vocalized these thoughts, but he didn't really have to. The pair had spent most of their lives totally inseparable, and it was doubtless that Daxter already knew these things.

Daxter knew Jak needed him, and vice versa. They'd survive this hell-hole city together.

"Hang on Dax." The blonde instructed, finding the opening he'd been waiting this long for. He took off running for all he was worth.

*******************~Meanwhile~***************************

"Good t'hear from you, soldier," an achingly rough voice imparted, preparing to cut the line. "Over 'n out."

Torn set down his communicator and resumed tampering with the frequencies of the base communication unit. Put slightly at ease after receiving four immensely relieving calls from each and every stranded agent, all reporting successful transfer, the mission still wasn't over. The kid _had_ done it, mind. If he hadn't, he would've been out anyway. Torn would have had to cut affiliation with him. The Underground never ceased in demanding its members to prove themselves, and furthermore, wasn't tolerant of mistakes, considering how they operated. Rule of thumb was generally 'one strike and you're dead.' One screw-up could cost a lot of lives. The pair could consider themselves lucky theirs didn't turn out to be so.

Now if they'd only haul their asses back, he could finally quit worrying.

He'd waited around after each radio-in, but still neither Jak nor the obnoxious talking animal had called in to gloat -they hadn't come in to do it in person, either- so Torn was forced to follow up and find out why. Kids were so much goddamn trouble... Never mind the fact that they were the only kids the Underground currently employed.

Torn at least knew they hadn't been caught, though he wasn't certain of their condition. He kept his focus on his reports that night, which had been as typical as any other. The one exception being the police scanner hooked up and tuned into the KG broadcasting system, now sitting across the room. Throughout the night there were constant updates, reports from sweeps of each sector, persisting all through the morning as well. They were being damned thorough, almost uncommonly so. Though the line he tuned in to was insecure at best, it was his only real option if he wanted to keep abreast of the situation. He used it because on this occasion, the streets were too dangerous for scouts to risk, and he knew he'd have no reports coming in from his own people.

About ready to gear up and head out to get them himself, he was, needless to say, relieved (both that they'd escaped, and that he could cross one added stress off his list) when the door swished open, ushering in the exhausted, but still whole pair of both teenager and ottsel.

Leaning heavily against the solid support the walls offered, Jak's boots trudged more than stepped, forcibly dragged over every crossed inch, while the ottsel was hanging limp, literally slung over the dented metal of the blonde's beaten shoulder guard. They definitely looked like hell, about as ragged and charred as if they'd just been present for an airstrike. But they'd made it. Eyes glaring blearily forward, the rat raised its head to acknowledge Torn's presence.

"Well, _hello, Gorgeous_. How was _yer_ night?"

It was all he could do to keep his face from hitting his palm. Jak should've left that squirrelly-assed bane of his existence to target practice.

Next time, he swore he'd make it an order.

* * *

_So there's a little fighting, bromance, DarkJak references and.. vaguely distressed Torn to tide you over. _

_I actually sat, trying to plan out where this was gonna go for days, and came up with a depressing load of nothing. Finally I gave up and started typing the fight scene out of desperation, when PRESTO! six pages of satisfaction presented itself. How the heck do I access my own ideas? Apparently they'd rather surprise me. *eye twitch*_

_Hope the fight scene didn't drag(?) I've been editing previous chapters and realized I haven't been delving as far into the scenes as I'd wanted. So I'm doing less editing with details, and the result might be a little more reading and a little less action, unfortunately.. What do you think. Is this too much, just right? Remember you guys are my life force- I live off feedback, postive and negative. :) Keep letting me know what you really think, or want to see more of. _

_Next chapter soon to come._


	5. Small Victories

_First off, I am _So. Sorry_. This took so long. I know I promised it soon, but I couldn't bring myself to post this until I edited it to death. We're finally coming close to the juicy stuff, and organizing it is a lot more challenging than I expected. HOWEVER~ I'm finally satisfied with the result, and I'm really hoping this was worth the wait for you guys._

_I swear, you reviewers.._

_I love you guys so much I'd consider sharing Jak and Daxter with you if I did own them. But I don't, so all I can give you is more fanfiction. :'(_

_Happy reading, anyway~_

* * *

Chapter 5: Small Victories

The pair's activity in the heavily-patrolled streets was met with the unpreventable consequence of encountering the Guard, and in full-force. Though confronted within a block of their final drop off, Jak had been the target, their only interest. They hadn't even blocked off the area to root out agents in hiding. The safe houses were forgotten about without a second thought once their rather conspicuous blonde emerged on the scene. It seemed someone high up really had it in for him. What he'd done, Torn didn't know- yet. But what he did know was Praxis wanted him- bad.

The ex-commander's instincts were proven right, and unsurprisingly rewarded him with an unenviable situation.

Torn had put down his work, as the pair descended into the base. Offering neither words of praise nor criticism, he simply gave them permission to hit the showers and grab a bunk. They smelled like an air wreck for one; the scents of smoke and gunpowder and charred skin settled into their clothes and fur, and was carried through the base upon entry. Unsteady as he was, the kid looked hurt, but not beat. It was doubtful he'd slept in close to 48 hours by what Torn figured. The returning hero nodded once, grateful, before heading off to repair himself, practically stumbling past Torn's table.

Apparently, they'd dodged the KG all night; the troops had been more reluctant to let up than usual, and remained one step behind the two, hard on their heels for the majority of the night. Only the darkness's cover kept them out of a second brawl, and it'd been too great a risk to stop and take cover. So they were instead forced to spend the night moving carefully, on constant alert for the crimson suits, to finally take shelter at the Underground base and report back to Torn. This justified the blood-spattered glove's exhausted search for support from the grimy stone walls of the base.

Finally verifying that all loose ends had been tied up, Torn tried to get on with his work in peace, but found he'd spent enough time dealing with _files_ that night. What he really needed was to tear into someone.

So he decided to check up on Jak. The opportunity was almost guaranteed to present itself there, after all. Too bad the kid wasn't better equipped to handle it. Nearly sighing in aggravation, he realized he'd have to save it for another time. But there was still reason to check in with the teen. Torn was well aware that Jak was stubborn and would likely prefer to drop dead before asking for help. Furthermore, Torn had no desire to babysit, but if the darkening wet stains on his tunic was something to go by, not all the blood had come from dismembered guards.

As a soldier in the earlier days of his career, Torn knew how important a fighter's personal sense of pride was to them, but there were certain injuries obnoxious enough to be worth the sacrifice. Plus, with the number Jak had sustained, he wasn't sure the kid would be able to keep himself awake long enough to finish treating them all, and therefore shouldn't need much convincing.

Having no one else free or present to send, he picked up the slack and sent himself. Pushing himself up off his desk he began the trek through the barracks empty halls. Though it was meant to be a shelter to all members, it was rarely inhabited long, and never full. They didn't boast much, catering only to the basic needs. The barren halls, unaccommodating utilities, and grave tension that hung in the air was enough to discourage anyone from getting too comfortable. The base was a temporary refuge, not a home. For their collective safety, they couldn't afford to use the base for anything but emergencies. Returning out of need was not to be made a habit (though Jak _had_ more than earned his right to the use of its meager offerings on this occasion).

The spindly drains that spat lukewarm water weren't meant for cleansing, just for removal of blood and grime- evidence, discomfort.

The beds didn't promise a particularly revitalizing experience being thin and worn, serving only as a place for rest and recovery when the streets couldn't be risked.

No- it couldn't be considered a real sanctuary, though Torn wished he could afford to make it out to be so. It was a safe place to hide when in trouble, but ultimately meant to be moved on from and forgotten about.

Stiffly making his way through the halls, Torn recalled a conversation where he was forced to explain all this, when the rat had once brought up the unoccupied beds and frequently empty hallways.

Busy updating scouts with new coordinates of interest, Torn had paused in his work to clarify how their base served its members (he must have been in a particularly patient mood).

Reaching the end of a rather brief explanation, the rat's expression still appeared largely unenlightened. So he simply summed up, "Can't let you take up residence or anything, but it's here when you need it."

Only then...

_It was late in the evening, and little action had been seen during the week. No safehouses were in need of evacuation, no cut-off of supplies, courtesy of the Baron, and no more than three men dead. An optimistic number in Underground terms._

_The kid'd had barely three days of experience with them, and had radioed in, requesting to crash for a night, and take a breather. Torn was only vaguely aware of the still-green recruit's other activities, but he knew the Underground wasn't the only authority the kid answered to. He ran around taking on missions and doing favors, for just about anyone or anything that got him closer to Praxis. Or doing anything that would tick him off in the slightest, it seemed. No blow was too trivial._

_Torn often felt the need to berate the blonde's naivety, for thinking he had a shot at taking down Praxis, but refrained. This 'Jak' wasn't easily dissuaded, and as long as it gave him more drive to fight their fight, Torn decided to leave it be. Every kid these days wanted to stick it to Praxis themselves, and well, they'd been in for a harsh reality check. He'd figure it out on his own. _

_The hour was late when he checked in; Torn had been considering turning in himself, but stuck to his personal belief that sleep was for the weak. Though stiff and irritated, it remained an indisputable fact that more work got done conscious._

_Hoping they wouldn't make themselves distractions for him, he glared up in greeting before tilting his head in the direction of the bunks farthest away from his desk._

"_Take one of those," he supplied,"and for future reference, don't plan on making a habit of this."_

"_Ooh, lemme guess- 'ya got a hot date clocking in tonight? Well don't let us cramp your style, McSteamy!" The rat quipped, elbowing the blonde and gesturing obscenely. His companion hid a grin, and Torn just rolled his eyes._

"_For your _information,_ this isn't a bed-and-breakfast, stop-in-whenever-you-like type of set up."_

"_Hey man, we're workin' for our stay! Kicking serious KG butt and taking names for 'ya," came the defense, fuzzy arms crossing indignantly, "Am I wrong in assuming there's a _lit-tle_ lack of appreciation here, Jak?"_

_Question being rhetorical, the blonde wisely decided to stay out of it and proceeded to pull off his heavy leather and metal-cased boots._

"_That isn't the point, you fleabag." Growling in irritation, he was seriously considering revoking the offer to stay, at least for the loudmouth of the pair._

"_We appreciate your work, but this place ain't at your disposal. Ever notice how many agents you see here?" He asked, indicating the unoccupied bunks with nod of his head. "That's cause they know how it works around here. Our location can't get leaked. The less it's frequented, the safer it is- for when it's _really_ needed." Uncrossing his arms, he sighed in frustration. It came out ragged and rough from lack of sleep._

_The agents deserved better, he knew. But it was all that could be afforded these days. Safety before comfort. He didn't know why he was bothering to explain, but Torn felt an obligation to be honest with the Underground's recruits. Even if they were a couple of ungrateful punks._

"_Dax." The blonde stated meaningfully, cutting the ottsel off in mid-rant. Looking at his naked feet, he glanced up seriously. Torn had a feeling that Jak was the more sensitive of the two when it came to picking up on the conversation's undertones. He'd been studying Torn's slightly dejected posture, even as he recited the unsympathetic speech. He could see the regret in his face, even if it couldn't be heard in the cold tone of his words._

"_Look, we get it. We won't overstay our welcome," the blonde insured, looking back down at the floor as understanding dawned on his face. Hesitating, he added tentatively "for what it's worth, this is the closest thing to a home we've had in this city." He briefly locked eyes with Torn, communicating his solemn sincerity, before tapping the ottsel in an order to go to sleep and lowering his head to rest upon the mattress himself. The ottsel shook its head in exasperation, clearly not as impressed with their lodgings as his friend, but submitted to silence anyway, claiming the pillow for himself._

_Nothing more was said and the night wore on in peace. Rubbing his eyes wearily, though still reluctant to acknowledge his fatigue, Torn shifted his gaze back to the unlikely pair, resting tranquilly- for the most part. Every so often, the elf's breathing would catch his attention, sharpen in pace, and once, as Torn looked on in silence, the teen was startled awake, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. Torn heard no sound from him, but watched the panicked look in his eyes fade into some semblance of calm, as he took in his surroundings. He then laid his head back in relief, and slept soundly through what hours of darkness remained._

_They were up and out at the crack of dawn, called in for a mission on the south side of town. Torn was thoughtful as he watched them go, making no references of the night's revelations._

_It was one thing to hear about the movement's progress, to be informed of their victories from the confines of the hideout over radio. But it was a new experience entirely for him to witness it first hand. This was something he envied of even the common foot soldier, the lowliest of recruits; even they got to see their accomplishments firsthand, while he caught wind of them only indirectly. Though he'd sooner rejoin the Guard than breathe it to another soul, what he saw that night brought him more peace of mind than any blow to the Baron could have. Despite how insufficient he'd believed their offerings to be, as an organization, he saw what their meager efforts could still provide. _

_Clearly, to one individual, the Underground was a home, despite Torn's belief to the contrary. He saw it in his eyes. This place really was a haven, if only for a few precious hours._

_Even if it was just for a misguided kid. _

_In contemplative silence, he felt his resolve curiously renewed._

Arriving down at the showers after Jak had to have been finished, Torn observed his timing was well-placed; the blonde was seated on a vacant bench, glistening slightly with residue moisture, and swearing quietly as he struggled to wrap his severely battered torso. The wounds crusted over with blood had resumed flowing freely.

Torn couldn't help but think that the sight of the bruised young man was certain to become a familiar one. But despite the trouble, by what Torn could measure, the kid had earned his help.

Now if only he'd goddamned take it.

He headed over and eased himself down on the opposite side of the bench, just within arms reach.

* * *

_Sooo... the flashback... Guh. A__ little change in pace here. First one (here's hoping it didn't bore anyone to tears). If it did, be honest and let me know. I don't mind. But please don't be afraid to let me know if it didn't either. ^_^ _Don't think Torn's losing his edge- I swear that's as mushy as it'll get. It was an idea I really wanted to throw in.. He's allowed to be human once in awhile, even if he doesn't mean to be. lol And that was Jak having a nightmare, for clarification.

_I'd also like to take this opportunity to apologize for tainting the J&D-verse with a Grey's Anatomy reference. Forgive me. *cringe* The nickname's too irresistible._

_It seems like Torny sure is taking his sweet time getting around to confronting these kids, doesn't it? Well never fear. It's a process, but really begins with the next chapter. Which__ is also gonna be bomb for those of you who like the angst. Just in warning, I'll probably milk it for all it's worth. It's nearly all written and I'm going to confess it's been my favorite to work on so far so... yes_. _Expect it soon... For real this time *sweatdrop*_


	6. Explanations

Chapter 6: Explanations

Torn silently appraised the two, almost missing the rat which was nearly lost beneath the sturdy blue material customarily wrapped snugly across the blonde's midsection. The jacket had been discarded in a loose pile on the floor, near its owner's feet, with the stone eco ring as well. The utterly-spent ottsel lay buried in the shredded bundle, deep in the realm of blissful unawareness, where it wouldn't be parting from anytime soon. Though now unconscious, it had refused to be abandoned on a bed without Jak. So the blonde took him back to the showers with him. In spite of its exhaustion, it had refused to leave Jak's side. Torn found it strange, but he supposed a normal person would find their attachment and loyalty endearing. He himself was left somewhat baffled. He wouldn't have expected that kind of devotion based on what he knew of the rat. He vaguely wondered how the two had teamed up before concluding that in all honesty, he really didn't care.

Pulling out the green eco salve he noticed Jak had used only sparingly, he shifted purposefully, prepared to do the job right. Though it wasn't officially his department, he was known to frequently take over responsibility as base medic through years of being met with stumbling, barely-conscious agents injured in all varieties of degrees on the job.

Despite their fatigue, cautious blue eyes managed to sweep a calculating glance in his direction, smothering any sign of surprise.

Torn decided to cut off their owner's probable protests.

"Bandaging is a bitch to do yourself." He shrugged in explanation, tone flattened with the weight of personal experience.

"Consider this your reward for pulling off the evacuation- without blowing yourselves to bits." He instructed humorlessly, wanting no argument.

"Hn," The injured member snorted, dog-tired, but still feeling the need to dispute the back-handed compliment, "My reward's getting 'bonding time' with a former KG..? A few botched missions suddenly don't seem so bad..." The corner of his mouth cracked into a mirthless grin "Maybe I should try failure more often."

Torn didn't let the comment stop his work, though an incredulous sneer threatened to appear in response to the comeback.

_Kid's got some nerve..._

In false gravity, he agreed, "Maybe you should." He backed the statement with a challenging tug that sharply drew the wrappings taut across the still-aching injuries.

The blonde let out a pain-laced laugh, unsurprised by the rough care, but appreciating Torn's unconventional assistance anyway. In his current state, he wouldn't have been able to manage more than a sloppy, rushed attempt at best.

This exchange effectively cut the tension, and the rebels, both battle-weary for different reasons, permitted themselves to lapse into silence. Jak sat in tired content, as still as Torn had ever remembered seeing him, though once his hands were relieved of their duties, Jak's heel had begun bouncing methodically upon the tile, as if his body was trained to remain in a constant state of motion.

With only the pain keeping him slightly on edge, he helped when Torn quietly instructed him to, holding the cloth in place as he tied. Torn efficiently dressed the wounds he could see, brows knitting in detached concern. He'd seen worse, and certainly would have _expected_ worse than what he was presented with from someone who'd not only been assaulted by more than three waves of KG forces, (by foot, air, _and_ vehicle) and then spent the remainder of the night evading capture. Despite the fact that he was still breathing- an accomplishment in itself- Torn still would have had no desire to switch places with the smaller fighter.

The kid was steadily earning his respect, he'd give him that. The Guard could be brutal in disarming and decommissioning their targets. Tell-tale angry red marks hadn't yet faded from the skin, undoubtedly earned from certain metal rods, surging with electricity designed to deliver incapacitating shock and instant loss of consciousness to more lightweight victims. A firm KG favorite. He hoped Jak hadn't been on the receiving end of this particular weapon much, though he knew the guard favored their use. Their after-affects were also longer lasting than blunter instruments. The blonde would be sure to feel a lingering stinging sensation that hampered movement for days to come.

"Mm." the involuntarily grunt of pain slipped out abruptly.

Yeah, that was deserved. Torn had gotten to the burn that had eaten through Jak's sleeve, leaving a raw, slightly cooked grievance upon his right shoulder. Slick and pink in the middle, laced with tiny wet pools of blood, it was a real eyesore, no doubt about it. Patches of blackened skin served as the outside edges, encircling the most tender part of the wound. Had it been the other side, it was doubtful that the rat would've returned to the base with him. Torn was more generous with the healing salve for this, though it would undoubtedly hurt like a mother no matter what he did.

Torn threw him a bone, deciding that to distract the kid from the pain, an attempt at conversation wouldn't be completely unwarranted.

"Not bad for your first time transporting, kid. Though this should _hopefully_ teach you not to make it necessary ever again." Ah, shit. Apparently he couldn't help but sneak a lesson in there. Though deserved, Torn was doing his best to show mercy. It didn't seem to suit him well.

Fortunately, that didn't upset his patient any.

"Mhm." Jak cracked a weary smile, indicating his amusement at not being spared, even in an injured state.

_Yeah, suck it up, _Torn mentally instructed, thoughts sounding more annoyed than he actually was. After observing the brazen, self-serving teen accept his help with hardly a word of complaint_,_ he had to admit that despite the grief the obnoxious pair caused him, he was generally pleased with their performance- in the heat and out of it.

"Gotta say it was worth it, though." The blonde admitted, such satisfaction in his voice, it probably could have made him forget all about the pain.

Torn frowned. No agents were lost, that was true. But he would love to know what could at least be worth those wounds that had to hurt like a son of a bitch, not to mention the risked security of the Underground and its members.

"Y'know," he pointed out, "you never gave me the specifics of whatever it was you did to make the shit hit the fan like this, Jak."

Jak was quiet a moment more, seeming to absorb what this implied. Apparently Torn wasn't buying his story- not fully, at least.

"Well, there wasn't much else to tell," the blonde reasoned, brows knitting, "We got a friend to override the system and rig up the elevators for us-"

_Vin._ That would explain why the scientist called in knowing what he knew. Torn didn't let on that he'd identified their help.

"And the motion-censored cannons? They were triggered as an automated response I'm guessing." He made his distaste perceivable.

"Well, yeah, we got them shut down before they did any real damage though. Besides-" the kid added in defense, "they mainly targeted threats so were trained on us anyway."

_Stupid kid; Just because we don't want _civilians_ hurt doesn't mean your own life isn't a concern of ours. _In truth, their priorities were a bit unfair. Jak's services were worth more to them than any innocent citizen, despite his antagonizing. Though he apparently hadn't figured that out, Torn, for his part, wasn't jumping out of his chair to explain this to him.

The blonde continued, unaware of the mental tirade being held against him, "And that should give you some leeway to get things done. It'll be some time before they're up and running again."

"Fair enough," Torn grudgingly allowed. The two _had_ done real number on the inconvenient installments; definitely enough damage to keep the patrols busy for a while. Hands now working to bind the youth's left shoulder as best he could; the wound was an awkward one to wrap, and would have been impossible for Jak to deal with effectively on his own.

With his usual level of severity returning, Torn got down to the meat of the matter, demanding, "Then what'd you do to get the Baron's attention as fast as you did?"

Jak was starting to figure out that vague answers like '_we kicked the Baron's ass_' wouldn't get him far with the old commander. Tired as he was, he could manage to fill him in if it meant getting off the hook in the morning.

Taking a breath, the renegade did so, delivering the information in a manner not too far off from that of a soldier's; keeping it brief enough to be informative without wasting time getting bogged down in frivolous details. Torn would have been impressed if this tone wasn't so disconcerting coming from a kid probably not even legal.

"We gained access to the palace elevators while the Guard was busy figuring out what to take care of first. It took us to the roof, and we found a window that gave us a birds-eye view of the interior... We overheard Erol and Praxis from that vantage point." Jak glanced back at him to see if he was being taken seriously, and Torn was mildly annoyed at this.

"What were they saying?"

Jak went with the blunt approach.

"Praxis is making deals with the metal head leader," the hurt elf declared without ceremony.

That effectively paused Torn in his work. He stared at the back of the blonde's head in disbelief, as he elaborated, apparently done letting this sink in.

"They're giving the metal heads eco in return for their cooperation. They won't attack the city as long as they're getting their promised payment."

"What? That _idiot_." Torn bit out, feeling his teeth grind. He shouldn't have been surprised, but this was a whole new low, even for the Baron. After what those beasts had done to them, to Praxis himself over Dead Town... It was hardly conceivable they'd be striking anything together- besides blows.

"Never mind..." Torn dismissed his own disbeliefs for later speculation. "What else was said?"

Jak was ready and waiting for the commander to finish the debriefing. Turning to face the open air in front of him, he let him know what else he and the rat overheard. Apparently the Baron _wasn't_ as cooperative as he sounded. He was planning on double-crossing them, playing helpless, and betraying their perverse agreement when least expected. Not that Torn could care less if there was justification. The fact that Haven's state had sunk so low that their ruler was making secret deals with the monsters he claimed to keep them all safe from- this was testament to the ruin the city had fallen to in the Baron's hands. The Shadow would have to be informed of this.

"That was it." Jak finalized, as Torn had already begun pondering possible courses of action to suggest. Then, in a mixture of embarrassment and irritation that left Torn confusedly annoyed, he added "Before, ah... Before Daxter sneezed that is."

"....."

"....."

He wasn't following.

"Wait, what?"

The blonde coughed, looking unhappily in the sleeping animal's direction, probably wishing it awake to talk them out of this.

"Daxter sneezed... Erol heard us, but we managed to hide before they could spot us in the window... So.. then the Baron, he, ah... sorta came to investigate."

"...The _Baron_ came to investigate_._"

"Yes."

"The _hell_, kid!" Hadn't he learned yet that their whole operation, their continued _survival_ depended on organization? Just what the hell did the teen think he was doing, taking the initiative to take on the most powerful adversary the Underground had without request, permission, or even fucking _back up_?

"Did he recognize you? Know who you were working for?" Torn pressed urgently, angling himself to look Jak in the eye.

"He doesn't know we're with the Underground," the blonde assured sullenly. Torn didn't recognize the significance of the unanswered first question, until Jak added, "but me and the_ Baron,_" spitting out the title, tone hardening with distaste, "we have unfinished business to work out."

"...."

"...."

Again.

"Wait, _WHAT_?"

Jak's shoulders hunched slightly as his muscles further tensed.

"What kind of business." Torn pressed.

_What haven't you told us?_

"The _unfinished_ kind," the blonde restated testily, turning his head away to glare at the wall, "Bastard got away before I could finish him." Torn couldn't see from his position behind Jak, but the younger man's eyes darkened dangerously in accordance with his reply.

Torn had been wiping away the blood from the nicks and cuts, some thankfully less deep than he'd been led to believe (it meant less work for him), but none that could easily be ignored. In surveying his work, the harsh reprimands which had been building like a growing storm abruptly vanished from his thoughts, as he noticed something strange. All traces of red wiped clean, there was still discoloring in the skin, almost indigo in hue. It could've been bruising, but... it didn't look right. They weren't placed in assorted splotches, they were neat, clean... linear. Torn placed the medical equipment back down on the bench for a closer inspection.

Drawn into studying the fighter's abused and angry form, his keen blue eyes slowly traveling the length of the exposed back, Torn saw what he'd been missing before... What the blood had been concealing. Wiped clean, the sight was extremely telling regarding their juvenile delinquent's jaded disposition.

Eyes drinking in the unanticipated sight, Torn left the interrogation momentarily abandoned, completely taken aback.

Either the blonde was too busy killing Praxis a thousand times over in his head to notice the stunned silence, or he didn't care enough to comment.

Torn had been in the fight long enough to witness, sustain, and treat his fair share of battle-inflicted injuries. Neck wounds, shoulder wounds, burns, bullet grazes, infections and lead-poisoning, cracked ribs and crushed bone. Such were the ways of war. Less common, but not completely unheard of were severed digits, crippled limbs, and fatal wounds he'd personally been lucky enough to avoid.

But this... Whatever method used to impart such devastating work was wholly unfamiliar to him. That was disturbing in itself. Experience be damned, it unsettled him that he couldn't identify the origin of the unholy lesions. The significantly darkened, jagged lines of raised tissue consuming Jak's back and torso left him momentarily speechless. Tightly cross-hatching his back, there was little area left untouched by the scarring, which spread out to more sparsely mark his arms and neck. His personal evaluation: It was a mess. Pure and simple. And it had been made so _before_ the battle with the guards.

But by what, Torn had no idea.

As he opened his mouth to demand where the hell it'd all come from, blocky numbering caught his eye, easily overshadowed by the disarming evidence of unfathomable abuse. The branded digits began at the collar bone and ran vertically, falling over the blonde's left shoulder in faded black ink. The combination of numbers ended at the shoulder blade. Having to tilt his head to the side to do so, Torn could only read the last grouping of numbers;

**P0251.**

Pieces falling into place, with a start Torn realized he could have been staring at Jak's 'business' with the Baron right then and there.

"_Jesus_, kid." He finally breathed, in a whisper both concerned and repulsed. This jerked the addressed youth out of his brooding, the tone in the speaker's voice putting him immediately on alert. Whipping his head back to eye the stunned soldier, it took him only a second to interpret the reason for Torn's tight expression and whitening skin.

Torn studied the chaotic, seemingly infinite cords of violet-stained scarring fused to the skin like a second layer. Forcing his eyes to return upwards, he searched the blonde's now clearly defensive profile.

There was a silence so weighed down with unspoken words it could have lasted for days.

Two pairs of intensely focused eyes; one, darker in shade, drilling murderously into the floor; the other, unsuccessfully seeking explanation from the owner's grit jaw and dangerously lowered brows.

Torn's expectation of provided details was met with silent refusal to give it.

"He..." He bit down the question, jaw tightening.

But peering into the shadowed eyes of his current charge, he knew it had to be voiced.

"...He do this to you?"

The strained and careful question hung suspended in the air, greeted with absolute stillness.

"....Thanks for your help."

* * *

_To be continued~_

_Tried really, really hard not to let Torn get soft here. Is he still a hard-ass, or did I kill him? This is where I'm treating his character with caution, but I may have failed. I hope his concern is convincing, and not too out of character. *twiddles thumbs nervously*_

_As always, question, comments, complaints? They__ help guide this story significantly, and as an added bonus keep my self-esteem afloat ;)_

_Some people I haven't gotten back to, I am listening, I just can't reply to your comments over e-mail. I'm going to start doing it here, for convenience's sake._

_Daxfan: First, I hope it doesn't seem like I'm belittling Daxter. If perception of him looks mean, it's only because it's Torn's POV. :) Glad you liked the fight scene, and yeah, I kind of chickened out, but I don't enjoy extreme graphic goriness. (Boys've been traumatized enough I'd say) I'm happy you appreciated that. As for Jak knowing his way around, Daxter definitely would've helped out there. I also envision the two pretty much living on the streets, and being forced to constantly be aware and learn/think on their feet to survive._

_Miss Anonymous: I'm pretty sure you're the same revisiting reviewer, and I really appreciate your staying with me here. SO relieved to hear you really enjoyed the last chapter, I felt like I was taking a risk getting Torn within ten feet of being sentimental._

_Koure: Thanks for demanding updates, the response is encouraging ;) Felt like I've done enough suspense to give building up the angst a go, I'll try not to disappoint._

_Khronoswolf: (Yay, new reviewer!) Glad you liked the fight scene, I tried not to completely B.S. my way through it. ;)_

_Mandri: double thank you for telling me Daxter sounds like Daxter. That one earned a MASSIVE sigh of relief, since humor is not a strength of mine._

_Dark Eco Freak: I'll do my best to keep updating, glad you're enjoying this experiment of mine thus far._

_Also thank you Aussi-chick13 for sticking around, and ciycat for taking an interest._

_Also OttselInstinct, Berander, Skaleflapper15, my original reviewers, thank you for your consistent support :) __Cookies for you all._


	7. Damages

Chapter 7: Damages

The abrupt refusal to answer snapped Torn back into action. As a rebel for _their_ cause Jak still answered to him. He called out, demanding explanation. He leapt to his feet, and exercising the grip of a soldier with twice Jak's experience, stopped the kid in his tracks, cutting off his escape. Looking him square in the eye, his face let the kid know he wasn't getting away with just that cryptic pile of bull. Not under his watch.

Only, he didn't. He didn't do any of those things.

This was the course of action taking place in his head, but for some reason he couldn't put his gut reaction into practice.

For the first time, the ready commands poised on his tongue were halted, leashed by one single thought. The commander sat blinking in disbelief as the soft, hard echo of the blonde's bare-footed retreat faded down the hall.

The scars, he had less than a clue about. But he knew an identification number when he saw one.

That tattoo came from the Penitentiary. His knuckles whitened a shade.

_Jak._ Came from the Penitentiary.

Torn turned a stony eye forward, considering.

He understood.

He understood that he understood _monumentally_ less than he'd originally thought.

The Haven Penitentiary was a fortress beyond escape, and this was not a question.

He knew this acutely well, having once served the system that armed her. His paranoia of the blonde hell-blazer increased ten-fold, and he felt the cold sweat break out in response to the two disturbing prospects now blaring in his mind.

First.

The first question was what had been done to someone so goddamn _young _inside its walls- Jak could still only pass for a minor _now_.

Second.. He ran his hand over his mouth as he considered that one.

The second was what exactly his escape from an inescapable complex _meant_.

The question hissed in the recesses of his mind now with more insistence than ever before;

Who. Was. Jak.

._._._._._._.

For Jak, that prison was a living hell on earth. A taste of the torture the afterlife held in waiting for the wickedest of souls. Brought to him early.

Only he was nothing of the sort. Or hadn't been. He didn't know now.

What he did know, was that he now bore the marks of her care. Her caress was the lash of the proverbial whip, the scalding black current coursing angrily through his veins. Running across his back. Her touch, her hold was the unyielding steel bracing twin restraints. These were now rings running over the flesh of his wrists.

The torment that never left. The sort he couldn't hide beneath gear and gloves-

_That_ was forever fixed within his mind, disturbing every dream.

But the indisputable, most permanent mark of her ownership he bore was inked across his back, black and unrepentant. **P0251**- a nametag, shared by the two hundred and fifty before him to be tainted by her most twisted forms of attention. As a prisoner, he was given a new label; christened Subject 251 of the highly classified Dark Warrior Program. He was the last recruited subject. And after two agonizing years, he was also its only success. And so the mother, in perverse pride and twisted glee, gave birth to a monster.

Despite his resistance, despite his every last straining effort, he had become a product of Haven.

He didn't have a reason to hide it. But no one had given him one worth revealing it for either.

So it remained Haven's worst kept secret, but if anyone stopped and really looked, he couldn't prevent them from seeing the prison, the treatment that shaped him, remade him.

The torture he underwent. The imprisonment, the punishment.

The atrocity consuming him, to which he lost all but the last shred of himself.

And the ugly, mocking, _gaping_ lack of explanation. The perpetually unanswered 'why.' Why they took _him_.

That breathed fire into the darkness of his core. It hissed and clamored for retribution.

He was free from the prison, but not of it's ghost. Records of her deeds marred his body, lingered in his mind, propelled his every swing, and ultimately, provided him with purpose. It's shadow hung close, and there was no changing this.

Even if it killed him… There would be a reckoning.

His glare lowered until Torn's handiwork filled his gaze. He regarded the bloodied fastenings bitterly.

Torn wanted an explanation?

He wouldn't want this one.

As he left the commander with only the sputtering lights of the facility for company, and all but fell upon a rickety bunk, Jak wearily wondered the same thing he'd been asking the Makers since the day of his escape; what he had become.

_._._._

Light peeked through the sliver under the door, telling Torn the morning had finally crept in on them.

The kid and the rat remained out of commission for the time being. Torn took the opportunity to continue mulling over what had been keeping him up all night.

Jak was a threat. Period. The new question was, who was he truly a threat to? He dug a new hole into the desk with his blade. Torn had naively presumed Jak to be a loose cannon, a pistol just as likely to shoot the hand wielding it as the one it was pointed at. Dangerous, but damaged. He'd pegged Jak as dangerous to both sides, assumed using him was a risk, (and a bloody big one) but it beat being on the opposite side of that relentless bloodthirst. Now, he wasn't even sure if he was on the trigger end afterall.

Because in all honesty what the hell did he, did anyone, know about Jak?

The blade twisted back and forth with enough vigor to draw up splinters.

Torn, for his part, now knew for certain he'd been held in that prison, and got fucked up real nice. Got fucked up being the **Baron's **personal pet project, from what he was gathering. Yeah, okay, _no shit _the kid wanted revenge; No fucking kidding. He was probably one of the few who really deserved it at that. Torn was long past the point of suspecting Jak of espionage. The kid's situation was way too complicated for him to be a mere rat. The Baron wouldn't have gone through such trouble with _that one_ for a simple line on the other side.

But. Torn didn't know what they'd done to him in there either, had no idea what those scars really meant. What his _escape_ really meant for that matter; It had never been managed before.

And that got him thinking. What if Jak only _thought_ he'd escaped? What if he'd only been _allowed to believe _it? What if the truth was, that he'd only been released… but not freed?

It would be so like Praxis, Torn thought as he glimpsed the blonde's still form, to set the kid loose and observe the results, the power to drag him back with or without a fight at his fingertips. For all he knew, the bastard had already tried, he realized, thinking of the renegade's last brush with the KG. Jak had no above-ground connections, no family he knew of to protest on his behalf. And the Baron had the entire militia at his beck and call. He was seething even as the idea hit him like a clenched fist in the gut. Whatever they'd done to him, it was possible that they still had some measure of control, that Jak was a pawn they had yet to put to use.

And he didn't even know it.

Torn yanked the knife out of the woodgrain before he shredded the tabletop.

He had no wish to further investigate this. It was one of those unsettling epiphanies he would have much rather pitched back into the wind that brought it to him. But he had to look out for the Underground.

He was getting his answers.

He watched as the injured fighter met the morning with little enthusiasm, issuing soft, semi-restrained groans as he attempted to pull the agony out of his muscles- still favoring that right arm. The dark circles shadowing bleary blue eyes fell out of sight as the blonde's head bent low, situating itself between a pair of fatigued knees. Jak had never been like this.

Torn couldn't decide if this was cause for amusement or concern, so he took the apathetic road.

"The hell's wrong with you, anyway?"

The eyes flicked up to glare a moment, straining to regard Torn from under pinched brows.

"…Other than experiencing what it's like to be deep-fried?" The sarcastic reply finally ventured, fighting for its usual bite, "Nothing." He hadn't even bothered lifting his head.

Torn wasn't missing a thing after the previous night. He could discern Jak's ashen pallor, even in the dimly lit space. The blonde sighed, pulling on a stiff glove.

"M'swell."

Bull. But Torn didn't call him out on the fact that even a blind kangarat could see he was definitely not 'swell'. This was primarily due to the fact that he didn't know _what _was wrong with him. Jak didn't get sick. He feigned disinterest as the kid geared up in stiff, rigid movements after prodding Daxter off his tunic. The jabs were light, but insistent.

Torn casually told Jak if he as much as sneezed anywhere near him he'd skin the squirrel, causing Jak to halt his prods. He looked away before wryly assuring, "Trust me, it isn't something anyone'll be catching."

The reassurance rang oddly hollow, and Torn's skepticism spiked to full-blown suspicion.

The rat finally yawned its disagreement, but complied to the finger's demands, stretching like a cat. Then came a grumbled, "What, you two have enough of each other already?"

Neither graced this with a reply, and soon the two were exiting the base.

Torn told Jak not to come back until he grew a pair and ditched the cold. The renegade's finger delivered his response, telling Torn to piss off for him.

If this wasn't normalcy, Torn would eat his own knife.

But it wasn't. As the pair left, he picked up his comm. and gave a single order.

"Tail 'em."

._._._._

Just after dusk, they were reported in the Northeastern quarter.

"Where they headed?"

"East. Making for the water slums."

This offered him nothing of insight. But Torn had a feeling. He decided it was as good a time as ever to find out where things stood.

_._._._

"I dunno 'bout you, babe," Daxter's chattery voice was saying as the grate platform brought them to the city's surface level, "but this has been WAY too much excitement for one week. It can't be healthy for 'ya." His (very) distinctive pitch rang in Jak's ear, but it was lost in the thick slum smog that greeted them as the surface-level doors parted to let them out onto the docks. They'd just cleared out over three dozen rogue MH's that had been prowling the sewers, scaring the shit out of Krew's lackies on more than one occasion, and it was those kinds of missions that really took their toll.

They'd taken off straight from the base that morning, leaving one ornery boss to come answering to the summons of the sketchier, slimier one. And Mar, did dealing with Krew make him feel used. Those beady little eyes were always sizing him up, and Jak could never tell if it was to deem him up to the task at hand, or if it was Krew figuring what he get away with not telling him.

It made the Underground dealings seem painless in comparison. Jak could at least say he knew exactly what Torn wanted out of him each time around.

"…We are, without delay, demanding a pay-raise from the Tattooed Wonder and taking an immediate shore leave. No more Metal Heads, no suicide missions, no more Haven harassment OR hospitality- there's not really a difference if ya know what I'm sayin,'" Daxter was still rambling, "None 'a that crap. Just beach, booze, and a BOATLOAD of blondes," he proclaimed, raising a firm, fuzzy finger with each requirement, declaring that he'd settle for no less.

He knew what Daxter was probably doing. Distracting him. The full effect of the last few days was finally catching up with him. He hadn't gone Dark. Again.

And every time he refused the call, he could feel it grow stronger, more insistent. It was wearing him down.

He needed to find a place to deal with it.

He locked his jaw as a dark tremor coursed through him, crackling faintly in the air before dissipating.

Daxter got the message as the shoulder he was crouching on shuddered violently beneath him.

"S'okay, Jak. Let's head down and see the oracle. That _oh-so-knowledgeable _pile of Precursor parts _should _be able to help us out." He assured in a slightly mocking tone, slipping the last skull gem into the tightly filled pack; the gems chinked almost musically as they were jostled.

"It better for what we're bringin' it, anyway," the ottsel added, giving their winnings a light swat. Even in Sandover, Daxter had never been impressed by the old spirits, and only now did the world seem to agree with him. Nothing was sacred in Haven, it seemed.

Letting his feet guide him over the rotting wooden planks, Jak made for the heart of the slums, not sensing the suspicious pair of eyes pinned to his back.

Torn was ducked low, peering between an especially large gap between the planks of the rickety, abandoned shack he'd watched the duo enter from a safe distance. It took nearly all his concentration to move without a creak, while looking out for loose beams. It wasn't comfortable by any means. But he was done skirting around the teen's touchiness.

He'd watched in slight confusion as the blonde had come to a stop, standing before a shabby structure- hardly different from any of the other shacks around it. Before the blonde strode forward and ducked beneath a ragged and moldering cloth concealing the interior, he'd looked contemplatively up at the structure. His form lost some of that permanent tension and his shoulders relaxed an inch. He seemed calmed, almost in a mystical sense. Torn shook his head at his own trailing thoughts, but once he'd cautiously crept to his vantage spot, he undeniably felt that same, disconcerting feeling he'd experienced on many occasions with this kid. The sense that he wasn't from here. That he didn't belong in Haven.

_Stay focused, _he berated himself, and looked again with sharper eyes.

Jak stood in a lit room, warm with spatterings of small candles, burning low; tribute from the slummers. On the opposite wall, an ancient precusor relic, with great lit and empty eyes stared into eternity. Some believed it to have some sort of power; but Torn had never pegged Jak as the religious type. Or the reverent type. Now that he considered it, he actually hadn't pegged Jak as anything other than the blow-shit-up, get-in-my-way-and-I'll-end-you type. So this was new.

He watched as the younger man eased the pack off his shoulders and upturned it. Glowing yellow skull gems spilled onto the ground, chiming like a chorus of crystal. They were surprisingly stunning once separated from the fanged, bloodthirsty monster heads.

The air around the statue hummed with life, an ancient sort of energy filled the air. The glowing eyes seemed to brighten with intelligence and Torn tensed, he felt himself fidgeting with the need to duck further out of sight. He'd never seen an oracle awaken like this.

But that was nothing compared to what it did next.

As Jak emptied the pack full of gems, the statue began to rumble. Then to his shock, the rumbling formed words. _It spoke._

"_**AHHH...**__" _it's voice was deeper than anything Torn could imagine. Deeper than the sea, or the dunes of the wasteland. Deeper than time.

"..._**I SEE YOU HAVE RETURNED, YOUNG WARRIOR**_."

Apparently this had gone down before. Neither Jak nor the rat were batting an eyelash at this voice, which came from nowhere and everywhere, echoing of power and mystery. The flames danced as it spoke. Jak merely stood and waited and the rat hopped of his shoulder, muttering something about 'chopped liver'.

It seemed to accept the skull gems littering the floor as payment of some kind. An exchange was made. The thrumming power built up again, drowning the room with its energy, and a crackling violet bolt collided with Jak's chest, forcing his knees to the floorboards. As he crumpled, the voice called out in demand.

"_**BRING ME THE DARK ONE."**_

Jak convulsed, shuddering so violently Torn numbly thought he'd been fatally struck. Then more scorching violet sparks danced around his form, and Torn had to look away from the heat of it.

When it was over, something else stood in Jak's place.

Peering again through the boards, Torn's first instinct was to throw himself backward in shock. He felt his heart quicken. He couldn't remember the last time he's felt such gut-twisting panic. Constant threat of discovery had hardened him to these feelings. But the pure fear he was experiencing hadn't hit him like this in years.

He felt like a cornered rabbit as the thing stood up, still not aware of him. It hadn't turned around. Yet his heart was about ramming out of its cavity, urging him to take some sort of action, growing more frantic with every beat.

_Wait._

His mind weakly strained against the overwhelming impulse to fight or flee.

He remained frozen, taut as a trigger, hoping to whatever was out there that he'd avoid its detection.

Its breaths were low growls, lapping over each other in steady waves. It more snarled than breathed. Its stance was bent, poised to launch at the nearest thing. Every savage inhalation detected scents, tastes in the air, Torn registered nauseously, judging by how dramatically the nostrils flared.

His hand gripped his gun. Every facet of this creature, the way it moved, the way it breathed, suggested one intended purpose- search and destroy. Ready to maim and devour the minute something presented itself before those black, soulless eyes. _Search and destroy, search and destroy-_

Torn had no idea what to do, but just the proximity of this creature sent his instincts screaming to ensure his own safety. Right then it was either shoot or radio in for help, and break out into a dead-run. But he'd been a soldier once, and that experience was the only thing keeping him from doing so. Still, every second sitting there frayed his nerves. The effort to stay put, while a living demon in the flesh panted hungrily before him- it was going to break his hold on reality.

Then he realized the rat was still inside with the thing. It was going to get eaten alive- he spotted it on the far wall, looking nothing but casually interested. Not scaling the wall in fear for its life. This brought Torn down a few notches, but_ it didn't make sense_. Even in his current state, Torn never once considered the rat was as heroic as it led on. Which meant it was too stupid to recognize the danger in the room with it- or it wasn't in danger at all.

Slightly wary, it stayed off to the side, both curious and concerned, watching with cautious interest. It had seen this before?

Too late to wonder, he realized as a bone-white ear twitched.

The creature inhaled two short strong whiffs, sucking air powerfully into its lungs as its chest expanded. Torn's heart dropped into his stomach and he fingered the pistol trigger desperately tight as the horned head rotated slowly, controlled, and the ghastly, white leer filled his vision.

_Oh, _gods_._

Black pitiless eyes snapped to his own, boring past to seek out the fear in them. In one impossibly long moment, the eyes narrowed, and a fanged grin emerged on its face. Torn watched, frozen, as he came to the realization that he was ended.

._._._._._._. End chapter ._._._._._.

_Ladies and gentleman... Martyrs has officially updated. Holy crap._

_For those of you still around- you. are. amazing._

_I got so many reviews on the last chapter, it was painfully, painfully hard not to jump right in with the next chapter. But I couldn't decide how to go about it. You guys. I literally planned out about 6 different ways this chapter could plot out and still couldn't decide.. hopefully we can all move on now. _

_But just for those who worried: I would never abandon this fic. It is my baby. And Jak is my boy. It's what brought me into the realm of fanfiction. _

_What it also was, was I kind of liked it where it ended. After this, it's going to stray pretty darn far from the game-verse, and I had issues rolling along with that. So this was gonna be a sequel, but hell. We're going all the way now. God, I hope this delivers lol_

_Again, THANK YOU all for your support and reviews. They were so wonderful. I can't even tell you._

_Darke Eco freake: Sorry this wasn't so soon, and yes, Torn's piecing things together. The plot's only getting thicker from here~ Glad to hear you're liking his perspective. :)_

_Koure: Thanks for 'demanding' and the reassurance ) Sorry it wasn't delivered sooner._

_Daxfan: Glad you're good with the boys and their portrayals! And it will become clear, I am a fan of torn drawing his own conclusions- it lets me develop a lot more intrigue and I just don't think Jak would spill the beans at the drop of a hat. lol_

_LuxAeterna1020: Glad you're onboard, thanks for taking an interest! Sorry you did in fact have to wait for the rest of this._

_aussie-chick-13: This chapter was largely for you. I'd written almost that exact review once before and hate the not-knowing if things will ever update again. That's the not so great side of fanfiction. :( Hope this was worth the wait, glad to hear you were a fan of the last chap. *hugs*_

_Anonymous: Good to hear from you again :) I'm glad Torn came across with his BAMFery intact, my biggest pet peeve is the 'pussification' of these characters. If I was guilty of it myself I might have up and quit. Thanks for sticking around!_

_Ottsel Instinct: Hope it was a good surprise? I try to pull something that still works, but what other authors haven't done (better) before. Hope the wait was bearable~_

_Faithless Reject: Really appreciate your review. I have a tendency to get darker than I want to at times, but I'm glad to hear you think it works for this story. I was afraid it would get a little to oppressive to stick with. And no worries, it may take a year and a half, but the chapters will come until this story gets finished. :)_

_Razzika: Haha, thank you! Glad Torn-POV excites you so. I dared to try, but was kind of afraid it'd be boring as hell. Thanks for the review :)_

_Stranger: I talked to you a bit before this on DA (when that happens, it's my favorite thing ever). Thank you for that brilliant, detailed, thoughtful review. I am utterly and wholly behind you on the "Jak isn't the talk for two pages worth of dialogue kind of guy." He's short to the point, was not so long ago a freaking mute- in short, mushy explanation fics are a huge NO for me. And I am milking the Jak and Torn interaction for all its worth- it might get ridiculous. so glad you're alright with that so far, although if you change your mind I won't blame you. And yes, I believe in the "write what you know" rule, so I write the game how I play it. Very cool that you recognized it. :) And last, NEVER apologise for lengthy reviews. They are an author's dream~_

_RANDOM HYPER PERSON: I DID THIS FOR YOU. Haha, it was going to end at "Something else was standing in Jak's place." But you've been so enthusiastic and excited, I felt awful leaving it at that. I SO HOPE I didn't disappoint with Jak's first Dark sequence- the next chapter will have a bit more to come. Thank you for sticking around, and for utilizing all those death threats! Seriously, though, you're great :) We need that._

_LeiaOrganicSolo: Hey! I would like to add in here I'm a fan of a bunch of your fics! It was really cool to see you're name in here. Sorry the update took half a lifetime, but here it is~ Glad to hear you're liking it so far._

_Berander: Yes, it was high-time, wasn't it? We're halfway to the 'big reveal' as of now, and 'absolute shocker' is what I'm aiming for. I'll try to deliver :)_

_Juubi/reyes yong Nydia: I'm glad all the characters seem in character to you :) Thanks for reviewing!_

_Foompuddles: First, your name makes me laugh :) Second, thank you for taking an interest, I'm glad you're liking it so far. And yes, this is what makes fanfiction great. the whole premise of this was me being uber-frustrated that Torn NEVER brings up Dark Jak. I don't think he ever sees him, but if he hears it by word or anything he never brings it up! I had to run and fix this! lol Thanks for reviewing._

_M-Angel 5: Oh boy. I am not even thinking ahead that far, but I like that idea. we'll see how it plays out ;) Sorry this update doesn't qualify as 'soon' but hopefully it delivers. Thanks for reviewing!_

_HellzCrusader: Torn will understand, once he understands. Haha that didn't make any sense.. Basically, once Torn finally weasels the full story out of Jak, I like to think he'd understand too. I will find a way to squeeze some bromance out of this dynamic if it's the last thing I do. Thanks for reviewing :)_

_LizzyKeeper08: Oh my goodness, I do not mean to torture anyone, but I did leave you in suspension for quite some time. :( I'm sorry about that. Here's something to make up for it I hope, and the rest should follow accordingly. Thanks for the review!_

_Carree: Big Brother Torn is exactly what I'm striving for. He and Jak just have to get to the stage where they can both be assured they're on the same side lol I'm glad you like the interactions, they're my favorite things to write. :) Thanks for R&Ring!_

_forty-five: Sorry again, that this wasn't a very timely update, but I'm happy you're enjoying the character interaction thus far! Hopefully they'll get to develop more the farther we go. It was one of those things I really, desperately wanted to see more of in the cut scenes, but hey, fanfiction is here for a reason :) Thanks for the review!_

_Annabelle: Challenge accepted :D_

_CornRoll: Oh dear, that makes me so indescribably happy to hear, but I hope you didn't check EVERy day. That's a lot of disappointment :( I'm sorry this took so long, but here's the next stage, and the rest will come in a more timely fashion :) Thanks for the review!_

_Kenmasandi: Thanks you so much for such an in depth crit- there were a few things in there I didn't even notice when thinking about the chapter as a whole. Really appreiated :) *hugs* The pronoun issue I realized while writing- I had this problem with narrative consistencies, where Torn would call Daxter 'the Rat' and 'It' and I would feel guilty calling Dax that all the time and change names... agh. I'll rehash it later for clarity. And I knew something was up with Vin's line  
*facepalm* thanks for catching it :) Glad to hear more people are working back into the J&D fandom, it's the first I ever got hooked on, and its good to see so many people into it after all this time. Yay nostalgia!_

_meeper: You are correct! Torn's sleuthing begins here. :) Hope it delivers!_


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